


a little bit of tender mercy [DISCONTINUED]

by carrionkid



Category: Marvel (Comics), X-Men (Comicverse)
Genre: Age of Apocalypse, Character Study, Childhood Trauma, Gen, Pre-Canon, Telepathy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-18 20:53:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29615265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carrionkid/pseuds/carrionkid
Summary: this fic is UNFINISHED and probably won't ever be finished, i started it in 2018 and then comics with nate grey in them started to deeply disappoint me and as such it has stewed in my google docs ever since. hopefully, someone will enjoy it!this one goes out to all the people who loved nate grey as much as i did. it's an exploration of his life before forge found him.--Nate Grey is not born loved.He first wakes up alone, choking on artificial amniotic fluid. Later on, he will learn that it sticks in the lungs for a good five minutes, but now, it’s the most terrifying thing that’s ever happened to him.He collapses on the ground, barely catching himself with his hands. He coughs and coughs, heaving fluid on the ground as it drips from his hair.Confused and afraid, Nate Grey breathes for the first time.“You’ve passed the first test.”
Comments: 1
Kudos: 3





	a little bit of tender mercy [DISCONTINUED]

Nate Grey is not born loved.

He first wakes up alone, choking on artificial amniotic fluid. Later on, he will learn that it sticks in the lungs for a good five minutes, but now, it’s the most terrifying thing that’s ever happened to him. 

He collapses on the ground, barely catching himself with his hands. He coughs and coughs, heaving fluid on the ground as it drips from his hair.

Confused and afraid, Nate Grey breathes for the first time.

“You’ve passed the first test.”

He understands the words, but isn’t sure why. There isn’t anything else than now.

“You’re the first one to last this long.”

He sits up, rubbing at his eyes. The air is cold and his body shakes as he cries.

“Don’t bother with that,” the voice is attached to someone towering, “Can you stand?”

Holding onto the edge of the tank, he pulls himself up until standing. Nate has never been aware of his legs before, but now they shake like they could give out. The towering man kneels in front of him, pulling at his hands, opening his mouth, tipping his head back.

The man’s hands are cold. Nate doesn’t like to look at him.

“You should be farther along by now. I’ll have to adjust the settings.”

* * *

It’s the third time Nate can remember waking up when he’s taken from the only building he’s ever known. That day is hazy. There are a lot of gaps in his memory, but it’s okay if he doesn’t think about it too much.

He doesn’t remember being outside, that comes later, or how he got there. All of that is forgotten when he’s placed in the pens. He saw them before, once. He even projected himself there, but it was nothing like this.

He doesn’t like Mr. Sinister, but Nate still cries when he’s left there.

The people around him are crying too, space packed so tightly that everyone is touching. He saw the memories of the place from before, but he’s never seen anyone  _ real  _ other than Sinister. It hurts. It hurts more than trying to move in a body he’s a stranger to.

_ help…...pleasenonoplease…..want my daughterhusbandsister back…..where is my…...have you seen…...what are they doing to us……..why are they hurting us…….help my wifebrothermother…….hurtsburnsaches…….pleasehelpsaveus…...where are you…….i bleeding, don’t know why…….how did this happen…….found us, after all this time……..think i’m dying……...find me, lost, searching, please……. _

Nate presses his hands to the side of his head, “ _ STOP!” _

Quiet doesn’t come slowly. The pen is loud and then it is silent. The people are still moving, mouths forming words without the noises to back them up. Most of them look afraid, some looking over at him.

He scrambles backwards, not practiced enough to stand right now. He only stops once his back hits the wall, more looking down at him like they know what he’s done. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t want this,” Nate’s voice is gone as well, “I just wanted it to be quiet.”

It doesn’t help. Someone close to him grabs him by the shoulders, pulling him up until his toes barely ghost the ground. He shuts his eyes as tightly as he can and thinks,  _ fix this, put it back to normal. _

“What  _ are  _ you?” 

The person holding him is shaking him now; he goes limp.

“I don’t know, _ I don’t know. _ ”

“What are you doing to that kid?” Someone else steps in, a woman with a softer voice.

The one holding him scowls, “He’s the one that--”

Nate clenches his fists at his side,  _ please don’t say it, please it was a mistake. _

“--that, uh, he…”

The woman glares; the man sets Nate back down. He can taste blood in the back of his throat, feels it running onto his lips. 

Nate can still hear the pain, but it’s softer, all tangled together to the point he can’t understand the words.

The strangest part is that no one’s lips are moving.

It still hurts, constant pressure against his forehead, but he won’t react again, even if it’s overwhelming. What just happened was scary; scary for him and everyone else. Nate can feel how afraid they are, it’s not fair to be part of that fear.

The different threads of words tangle into one. Nate can’t make out the phrase over the sound of dread. Something’s making him freeze up, but it isn’t completely himself.

Someone outside of the pen runs a club along the bars of the metal. The banging is mostly covered by the sound of everyone else, but it still makes the headache spike. There’s so much around him, pressing in smaller and smaller until he’s folded over on the floor.

Someone in the crowd can’t breathe, someone’s hands are shaking, someone’s biting their tongue, someone’s praying, someone’s crying. Maybe it’s Nate that’s crying, but it’s all running through him  at once, getting lost among everyone else.

“Heard there was a mutant in here. Big guy’s wonderin’ how such a  _ mixup  _ might happen.”

They’re talking about him and he’s not supposed to be here. 

Nate knows he’s not supposed to be here, it wouldn’t hurt this much if he  _ was _ , but the people outside have thoughts that make his whole body go cold. It’s not pain or fear or anger; it’s something else, something worse, something Nate doesn’t want to get close to.

“Go away,” he whispers, “Don’t come closer.”

It’s hard to move, like he’s spread out farther than his body.

“Go away,” he repeats, louder this time.

He doesn’t want to yell, he really doesn’t want to be the kind of person who yells.

“Don’t come closer, leave me  _ alone,”  _ he’s speaking but it doesn’t feel like his face that’s moving.

It echoes through the pen, voices slightly out of sync. That’s bad, that’s dangerous. These are people, people with thoughts even if they’re loud and terrifying. They aren’t muffled and hidden like Mr. Sinister’s. 

He’s stuck, stretched thin across them all. He shouldn’t be doing this, but they all kept pulling him. And now whoever’s outside will probably want to come inside and take him. He doesn’t want to get close enough that the people outside start pulling at him too.

“Leave me alone,” the crowd’s speaking all at once now, “Stop looking for me. Forget about me.”

The people outside stay close enough that Nate can feel them for what feels like forever, but they don’t open the pen. 

He’s still stretched in every direction, but maybe he can pull himself back in. He’s not standing, so anything that feels like standing is wrong. He pulls back carefully. It’s not clear how he got there, but he doesn’t want to hurt anyone.

He’s still not back, but it’s easier now. He can actually see now, but it’s still fractured between way too many eyes. 

Nate’s not sure if he can make them move. He probably shouldn’t even try, but maybe they can help put him back.

A couple of the eyes can see him on the floor, so he tries to stand up. They all move at once. Some are too tall, so he pulls back a bit more. It’s easier to move a smaller amount and he tries to bring them to himself.

It’s tricky, every movement is unsteady like when he was learning how to walk. The first one makes it to himself, pressing palms to his side. Then the next one, and the one after that. After they’re all touching him, they wake up. 

“I’m sorry,” Nate’s only speaking through one mouth now, “I didn’t want to do that.”

His ears are ringing and when he touches them, his fingers come back spotted with blood. He has to be careful now, the people outside are looking for him and the people inside are afraid of him.

They probably should be. He’s afraid.

He didn’t know he could do that or even how he did it, much less how to not do it again.

Mr. Sinister said he was powerful, it’s something that came up many times. He’s powerful and he has a purpose. He doesn’t know much about the purpose, but it’s always been hanging over his head.

* * *

The first time Nate sees light that isn’t artificial is the day he escapes.

It wasn’t something he tried to do, a lot of things happen that he doesn’t mean to do.

Nate stays careful. It’s not easy, but he can make things quieter without doing anything to the other people.

A handful of them are kind; it seems like they’ve forgotten what he can do, what he’s done. 

Maybe they have forgotten. He’s started forgetting, too.

Some of his memories are strange; there are a lot of gaps, there are a lot of memories that don’t feel like they belong. They fit strangely, edges grinding against each other. Memories of clean air and weightless light cutting into crying and sirens cutting into fragments of running, of being dragged away. 

Somewhere, underneath all the layers, is the memory of a place from before. Of something outside of the pens. He doesn’t remember much other than the ghost of loneliness, lots of kids, almost all  dead now.

There is a lot of death in the air. It sticks to him like sweat, like grime. He can feel it before it happens, before anyone comes to take the bodies away, but no one stops it. Not even Nate.

He’s been hiding. What he can do hurts the others and it hurts him and it makes him stand out more. It’s easier to blend in.

The day he escapes starts like it always does, until the walls break down. Whoever’s doing the breaking isn’t very careful. The rubble falls inwards and the pens are too packed and Nate can already see where they’re going to land. His thoughts are crowded with the cries of projections crushed beneath concrete.

The debris is heavy, but he holds it up, setting it down carefully outside the pen. He doesn’t let go until the projections stop screaming.

It doesn’t take long to reroute the course. People have already started fleeing through the gaps by the time he’s finished.

His nose is bleeding and his legs are unsteady when he tries to walk, but it’s good to know that he can change things, that he can help.

The group from his pen is already gone once his head stops spinning enough to climb out. The facility is big, bigger than he could’ve imagined and it’s impossible to decide where to go. He’s folded into another group, moving too quickly for him to keep up. He’s smaller than most of the others; it’s not possible to see where he’s going.

Nate doesn’t like to pry into minds anymore, but he needs to find something to go to.

There are too many, thoughts too tangled to pick out one destination. It’s loud, almost too loud to focus on keeping everyone out. Footsteps and thoughts and cries all mix with the alarms blaring overhead. 

He ends up somewhere away from the crowd, barely aware of how alone he is. Their minds are all as loud as if he was standing in the middle of it. It’s his fault for trying to open back up again, but he just wanted to find the way out.

He’s in a hallway somewhere. The walls on one side are caved in and the bits of rock and metal on the ground hurt as he tries to walk further. Nate clears them out of the way as he walks, but his footsteps are already sticky from the cuts.

He climbs up the closest slab, trying to see what’s on the other side of the hole in the wall. It’s not easy; he’s tired and in pain and his head’s still spinning, but it feels important to climb up.

Someone’s standing there, hand outstretched to him, “Come with me, I’ll keep you safe.”

The lights overhead are flickering, cutting in and out, playing off the man’s face.

Nate narrows his eyes, watching the stranger, “Who are you?”

“We haven’t got much time,” he sounds angry, but Nate doesn’t want to push at his mind and figure out why.

“I don’t  _ know  _ you.”

“The Infinite Patrol is coming so you can either come with me or stay here,” the stranger huffs.

“Get away from me,” Nate shoves past the stranger, the light overhead burns out softly, “I don’t know who you  _ are. _ ”

The man doesn’t try to stop him. He doesn’t try to come after Nate either. It’s nice to not be the thing everyone’s looking for. He doesn’t know what Nate can do or what he’s already done. 

Nate keeps walking. There’s still alarms overhead and the dust on the ground is starting to stick to the blood from his feet, but other than that, it’s quiet.

No one is around. No one is packed close enough that thoughts are touching. 

For the first time in a long time, it’s just Nate.

Just Nate is a lonely thing to be. The space feels empty even if it hurts less to be alone. Even when he’s not trying to pry, he still  _ hears.  _ Now there’s nothing.

Maybe it’s because they’re already gone. Maybe it’s because they’re already dead.

There’s nothing but fear back where he came from, so Nate heads on.

The crumbled hallway seems to be getting brighter. It’s a different kind of bright than the lights in the pens, all of them harsh and buzzing and on constantly, even when everyone tries to sleep. 

The ceiling is caved in. Softer light catches with the dust in the air, twisting around like it’s playing with it. Nate stops to watch, even if the air is getting harder to breath. He doubles over, coughing. Somewhere along the line it shifts to crying, because the inside of his ribs hurt, because he’s bleeding, because everything’s so different.

Maybe he should’ve gone with the stranger.

It’s too late to go back now. 

Nate hasn’t had much chance to make choices, but he thinks he’s probably stubborn. 

So, he stands back up and he wipes the tears from his eyes. His chest feels tight, breath sort of thin and wheezing. 

The caved in part almost makes a ramp up into the newer light; it’s as good a place to go as any.

Climbing up onto the thing that used to be a ceiling isn’t easy. The air is thicker here and his chest is so tight that it hurts. He’s not sure if it’s from the dust or if the air outside is always like this.

Nate’s winded and he lies with his back to the cool concrete. Now he’s tired and his arms ache more than ever before. It was easier to climb farther inside the building and maybe, just maybe, there was a reason why everyone was kept inside.

But, he has to keep moving. Nate doesn’t know what’ll happen if he’s found. Lots of people go missing. At one point in time, he would go looking, but there was never anything to be found. It was like their thoughts just got turned off.

He pushes himself up, standing again. His hands aren’t cut yet, but his knuckles are scraped from trying to climb. The angle of the ceiling is a lot steeper than it looked, but Nate keeps pulling himself higher.

When he gets up on the roof, he stops again. When he turns back, he can see the rest of the facility. 

It’s bigger than anything he’s ever seen before, looming and dark. Something about it makes him shiver even though the air is warmer out here. It’s not clear where  _ here  _ is, but when Nate looks down over the edge, he can see the ground.

It’s too high up to jump down and someone could probably see him from the collapse. If he moves farther down the roof, it’ll be harder for anyone to find him. He’ll have to get down eventually, but for now, he’s tired.

Nate walks farther along the roof and when he can’t see the gap where the ceiling caved in, he stops. After sitting down, he kicks his legs against the side of the building, looking around.

The institution was mostly white. White walls, white light, white floors, pale faces in cages. This is different. This is the first time he’s ever seen something like this with his own eyes.

Outside doesn’t look like the memories of before, either. It’s too generous to call them his own memories, they never belonged to him, they just filled a gap that Nate hasn’t explored too deeply.

Those memories were greener, but the sunlight seems like the same.

Nate hopes the person he’s remembering for still has the memories. He can’t imagine not knowing what trees used to look like.

Now, they look like skeletons, empty and yellowed, reaching up to the sky.

His entire body feels heavy now, all of the day’s actions catching up with him. There wasn’t much space to move in the pens and the people who got taken out rarely came back. He’s tired. It can’t hurt to lie down for a while. He’s up too high for anyone to see him from the ground and he’s far enough away from the gap that no one can see him from there.

Maybe he could make it so no one can see him at all. Nate knows he can do things; a lot of the time, they’re scary things. He doesn’t know how to control what he does.

It’ll be okay, it has to be okay.

Nate leans back until he’s lying on the roof. It’s warm from the sunlight and for once, he’s got enough space to lay down and spread out.

The light kind of hurts his head, but with his eyes closed, it feels nice. He could almost fall asleep. Maybe without anyone around, he won’t dream through other people’s eyes.

It still feels a little bit lonely, but it’s nice for things to be quiet. If he’s alone, he won’t be able to hurt anybody. 

* * *

“What are you doing up there?”

Nate must’ve fallen asleep. He doesn’t remember falling asleep, but sometimes that happens. He didn’t think anyone would be able to see him from the ground, but obviously that’s wrong. Someone wouldn’t be asking about him if they couldn’t see him.

He sits up, moving slowly like his mind is more awake than his body. 

There’s someone standing below, looking up at the roof. He’s part metal but he’s got a mind that doesn’t feel as cold as all the others in armor. Nate doesn’t push at it, but his thoughts don’t feel dangerous.

The problem is, if he can see the man, the man can see him.

Nate tenses, braced for… Well, he’s not sure what he’s braced for. He’s seen lots of bad things, doesn’t know which of them are memories, fears, nightmares. 

“I know you’re there,” the man laughs; it’s the first time Nate’s heard someone do that, “I just saw you up on the roof.”

Nate’s still sitting up, the man should still be able to see him. He leans over the edge, gripping the side of the roof as tight as he can. The man’s looking right up at him, with kind of a half smile on his face, and his eyes look soft even if one’s mechanical.

It’s at this point that he realizes he can see through his hands. He’s holding onto the edge of the building, he can feel it under his fingers, but he can also see the rusted metal through his hands. There’s a faint outline of where he should be, but that’s it.

“That’s a neat trick you can do,” the man’s not looking at him, he’s looking through him.

Nate lets out the breath he was holding and then his hands are solid again.

“Can you do anything else?”

Nate doesn’t feel anything bad coming off of him, but it’s never been safe to tell anyone about what he can do.

He shakes his head, “Nope. Nothin’ else.”

The man makes a sound like he’s thinking, “Can you get down from there?”

Nate can’t get down. He probably needs help, but it’s hard to know who’s okay. He looks at the man, eyes narrowed, but he doesn’t try to pick at his mind.

“Jump down,” the man holds out his arms, “I’ll catch you.”

Nate considers, shifting forward until his legs are dangling off the edge. The man is a lot taller than he expected, but this is probably the best chance Nate’s gonna get. Closing his eyes, he slides off the edge of the building.

The man catches him, just like he said he would. The impact of being caught almost knocks his breath from his body, but that’s not the man’s fault. The man doesn’t set him down and for a second, Nate’s worried that he might have to hurt someone again. 

That’s not something he ever wanted to do after the first time.

The man pushes Nate’s hair out of his eyes with a sharp metal finger, “There you are, little one, do you have a name?”

Nate frowns, “Do you?”

“Good question, you can never be too careful,” he laughs again, “You can call me Forge.”

It sounds like it’s true, at least true enough, and maybe Forge won’t be bad or dangerous or someone who wants to hurt him.

“You can call me Nate.”

“You probably haven’t seen many people like me,” Forge says.

Nate shakes his head. There were people with missing limbs in the pens, but none with replacements.

“How old are you, Nate?” 

Forge looks concerned, watching him closely; he shrugs as best he can, squirming in Forge’s arms, “I’m not sure.”

“That’s alright.”

Forge is walking now. Nate hasn’t found his way to asking to be put down, but he’s not sure if that’s even what he wants anymore. Nate’s still tired and his arms are sore and his legs are sore and his feet hurt and Forge seems to be safe.

“How did you get up there?”

Nate gives him an annoyed look, “I climbed up, of course.”

Forge raises his remaining eyebrow, “Out of the pens?”

“Out of the pens.”

Forge’s eye goes wide, like he’s surprised, “That’s not an easy thing to do…”

It didn’t feel that hard to do until he started getting tired. The worst part is the cuts on his feet, but at least he doesn’t have to walk right now.

“Where are we going?” Nate yawns; being in such a big place is beginning to lose the appeal. 

Forge shifts, readjusting how he’s holding Nate, “Somewhere safe.”

“How do you  _ know  _ that?”

“I’ve worked very hard to make sure that it is.”

* * *

The place Forge takes him to is smaller than the institution but bigger than the pens inside the institution. It’s filled with soft, orangey light and Nate can feel other people inside.

He trusts Forge, but these others are all strangers. There’s no telling what they want or what they’ll do if they find out what Nate can do. 

No one else in the pen had powers like him; every reason why he’s the only one seemed too scary to think about. All the people outside only looked for him when he used them.

Forge was from outside too, not just outside the pens but outside the institution. The people outside the pens were usually dangerous, their minds always felt cold, but Nate has no idea what’s true of the people outside the institution.

The minds in the building don’t feel cold, and if Forge trusts them, Nate should to. Nate hasn’t been listening to Forge’s thoughts, but he doesn’t seem scared or suspicious. They’re so close that he can’t help but picking up on some of his feelings.

Forge sets him down in the building. He motions for Nate to be quiet before taking his hand with the mechanical one. It’s warm to the touch, warmer than skin, and the fingers aren’t as sharp as they look.

Even though they’re sneaking past the other people here, Forge still doesn’t feel afraid. It helps Nate feel calmer; scary things happen when he gets upset. The light is warm, flickering on the walls, and he’d stop to watch it if Forge wasn’t nudging him along.

They stop in a room separated from the rest with a thin blanket hung over the doorway. Forge pulls it aside, gesturing for Nate to go in. He’s got lots of questions, but it looks like they’re still being quiet right now.

It’s a really small room. There’s barely enough space for the mat on the floor and a spread of metal parts at the end of the bed and along the side.

“Stay here.”

He’s shaking even though Forge is still standing in the entryway. The walls are too close, even with the light, there’s something at the back of his mind that feels very dark and cold. 

Nate doesn’t think he likes small rooms. The feeling is something overwhelming, something that has to be from himself. The pens weren’t small, just crowded, and he’s never felt anything like this before.

Forge crouches down in front of him, hands placed on Nate’s shoulders, “I have to talk to the others. We haven’t taken a child in before.”

Nate’s crying. He does that a lot and he doesn’t always know how it starts, but his powers aren’t acting up yet.

“You’re staying,” Forge brushes at his cheeks, “You’re staying with me no matter what.”

That’s not what Nate’s crying about, at least, that’s not what he thinks it is.

“I have to go,” he says, voice softer now, “Stay here.”

Nate nods, eyes squeezed shut.

“Okay,” Forge stands, letting the curtain drop to cover the doorway.

Light still comes in through the holes in the blanket and underneath where it doesn’t quite touch the floor, but Nate can’t shake the feeling of cold darkness.

He sits back on the bed, picking at the worn cover of the mat. The light flickers and dances on the walls of the small room.

He’s not tired anymore, his whole body is tensed up. He’s not sure why, he doesn’t feel any danger coming off of the people in the other rooms.

Forge asked him to stay in the room, but he didn’t say anything about standing in the doorway. Nate gets back up. Standing hurts the cuts on his feet, but he’s too restless to sit on the mat and wait.

Pulling back the curtain, Nate leans against the door frame.

People lived here, once.

All the walls were standing then and they used to have flowers on them. 

The kids would run in the halls, even when the adults told them not to.

They lived here, and they died here, too.

Nate can’t breathe. Everything around him is too hot and he pulls back his hand like it’s been burnt.

He blinks and then door frame is all black and the walls are peeling and faded again. 

His hand looks normal, but he remembers how the burn felt.

The house is sad. Sometimes it seems like the whole world is sad.

Forge is still in the house, Nate can feel that for sure. In the pens, everyone’s minds were too loud, but now that there aren’t so many around, Nate can see that each one is different. There are a lot of threads, and Forge’s thread loops all over the house. 

He’s here a lot, so Nate probably isn’t being left.

_ Forge? _

Nate pulls at the thread. He’s avoided all the minds around him as best he can, but he can’t stop from calling out now. It should be okay, he isn’t pushing, he’s just nudging.

_ Yes, Nate? _

He pulls back, stumbling over the mat on the floor. Nate’s never gotten an answer before.

Maybe that wasn’t safe, but Forge has only been helpful so far. Nate has more questions now than ever before. He’ll have to wait for answers; people always come looking when he uses his power, even if it’s an accident.

But, no one comes looking for him, not even Forge. At least Nate knows he’s still in the house.

Nate can hear the others thinking through the wall. It’s just as loud as their voices, but Nate tries to ignore them both. Sometimes he overhears things he doesn’t want to.

They’re talking about him. About if he should stay.

Forge said he could, but he could always change his mind.

What Nate really needs is a distraction, something to make it easier to not hear everything. Lying back on the mat, he rests one of his feet against his other knee. There’s still something in some of the cuts, making them hurt worse than they should.

It’s okay to use his powers here, and maybe, if he’s careful, he can get the bits of metal and concrete out.

It’s easy to feel what  _ isn’t  _ him, it feels more wrong than just hurting. They aren’t supposed to be there. If he closes his eyes, he can still see himself, light where his body usually is. There are spots of solid black in the places that hurt most.

Nate can move things, sometimes, but he’s not sure how. It’s always just  _ happened. _

He tries pushing, careful against the shadowy parts.

The metal moves, and it almost hurts more than just leaving the cuts alone.

One of the pieces pushes out, falling to the mat with a muffled thud. One down, only three more to go. That seems like too much for right now; he’s already tired and using his powers just makes it  worse.

Forge is moving closer, moving away from the other minds. Nate could try to make a run for it, but he’s bigger and stronger. It doesn’t help that Nate’s tired. He doesn’t want to run. Today’s been a day full of running; something that he’s never had the chance to do before. 

And Forge has been safe so far. Nate can’t feel any anger at the edges of his mind. Even when he’s trying to hide, Nate can still feel what other people are feeling. It’s loud, louder than their thoughts.

Forge doesn’t feel dangerous, even after Nate used his powers. That has to mean something.

“It seems like you’ve got a few more tricks up your sleeves, little one,” Forge pulls the curtain back.

Nate doesn’t look at him. Sometimes things happen when he doesn’t really want them to and sometimes people get hurt. He rolls on his side, curling in. It’s easier to just get smaller, to hide, until nobody notices him. 

“You told me you couldn’t do anything else earlier today…”

Forge still isn’t angry. 

There’s something else there, right at the edge, coming off in waves.

Something that almost feels like laughter.

Nate sits up enough to look at Forge. He doesn’t look upset, but he doesn’t look like he’s laughing either.

Forge makes it halfway to a smile, crouching down at the edge of the mattress, “It’s not polite to eavesdrop.”

“I don’t  _ try  _ to. Everyone just thinks too loud.”

“I know you can do more than just listen, Nate.”

Looking away, Nate crosses his arms. A long time ago, he figured out that not everyone can hear what he does, see what he does,  _ do  _ what he does. Forge probably won’t know what he’s keeping secret.

“Maybe,” Nate says, eyes trained on the wall.

Forge laughs, out loud this time, “I heard you call out. I answered.”

There really isn’t any way to argue with that, but Nate isn’t ready to give in yet.

“You probably had to keep this a secret,” Forge sits by the mat, “Didn’t you?”

Nate lays back down, talking to the roof or the ceiling is easier than talking to someone else, “Mutants aren’t supposed to be in the pens. People come looking. So you gotta hide.”

“Someone probably told you do to that so you’d be safe.”

“Nobody told me  _ anything _ ! I figured it all out by myself and I hurt people by  _ mistake  _ along the way!”

Nate’s never yelled at anyone before, and it’d probably feel good if there wasn’t a weird panicky feeling in his chest. There’s never been anyone who’d be safe to yell at.

Forge doesn’t look angry, he doesn’t feel angry either. It’s kind of like he’s sad.

“Do you want someone to help you?” He nudges at Nate’s legs, “You don’t have to keep at this alone.”

Nate’s never really alone, but that’s not a choice he actually gets to make. 

“There are other people like you, Nate.”

Nate curls his hands into fists, “I don’t  _ like  _ this, it just makes everything  _ bad. _ ”

Forge sits against the wall and Nate can feel him trying to think. It’s tangled, like he doesn’t know what to say. He’s felt this in the minds of other people, trying to explain what was happening or why there are the pens.

Forge sighs, “You could talk to me, that’s not bad.”

“It makes people look for me, they’re always looking for me.”

“We can help you learn how to hide. There are lots of people like you. People who want to help.”

Nate knows Forge hasn’t brought up the other minds in the house, but he doesn’t want to pull the idea out of his head. That doesn’t ever end well.

“Are the other two people like me?”

“You could sense them?” Forge laughs again, “Yes, those two and more. There aren’t many, but we make do.”

Maybe it wouldn’t be bad to stay with Forge. Nate doesn’t fully remember being alone but it’s there, somewhere. He likes it better when it isn’t just him. 

Now that he’s not as angry, it’s hard to keep from yawning. He didn’t sleep much in the pens, there wasn’t enough space between all the nightmares and all the people.

“The house is sad,” Nate says, rubbing at his eyes, “It’s lonely, too. It misses the other kids, but I think it likes me.”


End file.
